The Heart of Rachael

"Well, then, we'll go on home," Mrs. Breckenridge said, without,

however, changing her relaxed position. "Clarence is probably

there; we've been playing cards at the Parmalees', or at least I

have. Billy and Katrina were playing tennis with Kent and--who's

the red-headed child you were enslaving this afternoon, Bill?"

"Porter Pinckard," Miss Breckenridge answered, indifferently,

before entering into a confidential exchange of brevities with

Miss Sartoris.

"I'll call him out, and run him through the liver," said Peter

Pomeroy, "the miserable catiff! I'll brook no rivals, Billy."

Billy merely smiled lazily at this; her eyes were far more

eloquent than her tongue, as she was well aware.

"Let her alone, Fascination Fledgerby!" said Mrs. Breckenridge

briskly. "Why can't we take you home with us, Elinor? We go your

way."

"You may," said Miss Vanderwall, rising. "You're dining at the

Chases', aren't you, Billy? So am I. But I was going to change

here. Where are you dining, Rachael?"

"Change at my house," Mrs. Breckenridge suggested, or rather

commanded. "I'm dining in my room, I think. I'm all in." But the

clear and candid eyes deceived no one. Clarence was misbehaving

again, everybody decided, and poor Rachael could not bespeak five

minutes of her own time until this particular period of

intemperance was over. Miss Vanderwall, settling herself in the

beautiful Breckenridge car five minutes later, faced the situation

boldly.

"Where's Clarence, Rachael?"

"I haven't the remotest idea, my dear woman," said Mrs.

Breckenridge frankly, yet with a warning glance at the back of her

stepdaughter's head. Billy was at the wheel. "He didn't dine at

home last night--"

"But we knew where he was," Billy said quickly, half turning.

"We knew where he was," agreed the older woman. "Watch where

you're going, Bill! He told Alfred that he was dining in town,

with a friend, talking business."

"I thought it was the night of Berry Stokes' dinner," suggested

Miss Vanderwall.

"He wasn't there--I asked him not to go," said Billy.

"Oh--" Miss Vanderwall began and then abruptly stopped. "Oh!" said

she mildly, in polite acquiescence.

They were sweeping through the April roadsides so swiftly that it

was only a moment later when Rachael, reaching for the door,

remarked cheerfully, "Here we are!"

The car had entered a white stone gateway, and was approaching a

certain charming country mansion, one that was not conspicuous

among a thousand others strewn over the neighboring hills and

valleys, but a beautiful home nevertheless. Vines climbed the

brick chimneys, and budding hydrangeas, in pots, topped the white

balustrades of the porch. A hundred little details of perfect

furnishing would have been taken for granted by the casual

onlooker, yet without its lawns, its awnings, its window boxes and

snowy curtaining, its glimpse of screened veranda and wicker

chairs, its trim assembly of garage, stable, and servants'

cottages, its porte-cochere, sleeping porches, and tennis court,

it would have seemed incomplete and uncomfortable to its owners.